Need
by hopelesslyhalfhearted
Summary: "She sets a mug of tea down in front of you, and cups her warm hands around your jaw, brushing a thumb against your cheekbones. You've alway felt they were too angular, too sharp. Elaine once said they made you look severe. But Holly strokes them as if they're as delicate as the porcelain your skin shares its colour with." Post 5x04. Oneshot.


It's Oliver that points it out. It always seems to be Oliver that points these things out. You know that if anyone else took such a keen interest in the workings of your mind, it would annoy you. You certainly wouldn't acknowledge them and discuss their observations. You find it sort of creepy when people notice things about you, a little off putting. You like to think you only reveal what you want them to see - so when they deduce something for themselves, it freaks you out a little. But with Oliver it's endearing, comforting even. You appreciate it. Which is odd.

"I feel very old, Peck. Do you know why?" You don't need to reply, he'll continue anyway. So you stay quiet, still trying to work out what it is about Oliver that makes you so accepting of his fatherly attitude towards you. "This month I saved $40, that I would have otherwise given to some acne-ridden, kitchen-raiding teen to babysit. None of my kids require babysitting anymore."

"Don't spend it all at once," You mutter sarcastically. You're waiting for this to go somewhere. He's speaking quite slowly, as if he hasn't yet decided whether he's going to bring up what's coming next. Which can only mean one thing - he's wanting to talk about you.

"I think I should have got you to babysit sometime, Peck." What you like about Oliver is that, even if he considers whether to say something to you or not, he always chooses to say it anyway. He doesn't shy away from it. Most people don't do this. Most people notice something, and you can tell they want to mention it to you, or ask you about it; but, more often than not, they chicken out. Too scared of what your reaction may be. Oliver never chickens out. Not even after Fight Night, when he asked about Holly, and all he got in reply was a series of eye rolls and death glares. "You're good with kids,"

There's a call on the radio. Domestic disturbance. A neighbour's called it in. Andy and Dov respond first - they're closer. Internally you're relieved. You haven't slept much in the past few days, and the last thing you want to be doing is attempting to mediate some argument about who gets to keep the dog. If you were in a better mood you'd probably feel a little guilty reducing what could be a serious situation down to something so petty, but you're not, so you don't.

"They found some family for that kid,"

"Sophie." You correct him, although you have a sneaking suspicion he already knew her name. That he was just testing the water, trying to pick up clues about how you're feeling. He'll probably be analysing the tone of your voice right now. You're not exactly open with Oliver. You don't spill your guts out to him, and you've never actually sought out his advice. But, when he's trying to figure something out, you're happy to provide him with some clues along the way, as if it were some kind of crossword.

"Yeah, Sophie," He pauses to take a bite of one of the donuts you'd brought that morning. The last of the box Holly got you at the beginning of the week. "She's going to live with an Aunt in Quebec."

"She doesn't speak French," He raises an eyebrow, wondering how you could possibly know this. It's quite a weird thing to know about a kid you only spent a few hours with. Especially when most of that time she was alternating between tears and disbelief.

"She'll be ok," He says it with such conviction, but you're too jaded, too cynical, too Gail to truly believe him. When something like that happens, it's so hard to make sense of the world around you. Everything seems different; things that used to fit, and make sense, don't anymore. It's like everything has changed, like you've been transported to a different planet, although really you know it's only you that's different. It felt like that after the… after Jerry. You can't imagine having to deal with something like that, and having your world change too. Quebec may as well be a different planet.

"Maybe." You only say it because you don't want him to worry. And it's the best you can offer.

"Why do you like kids so much?"

"I don't,"

"You're gentle with them." He also never puts up with your bullshit. Another admirable quality to add the list you seem to have been creating this shift.

"My quick wit would be wasted on their pea-sized brains."

"You know why I like kids?" His ability to ignore your more unsavoury remarks is commendable too. "They're innocent, haven't been ruined by all the bad of the world. They haven't done anything bad. I mean, they might not be very well behaved, might talk back to people or do some stupid pranks, but they aren't bad. It's like they haven't had chance to be cor…"

The radio cuts him off. You spend the rest of shift at the domestic disturbance from earlier. You're in charge of closing off the crime scene. You feel like such a dick for thinking about the dog, that you're too lost in your thoughts to notice somebody trying to get through.

"Can I just…" A voice says, trying to brush past you as you secure the porch.

"Are you stupid? Can you not tell…" You cut yourself off when you snap your head up and see who's standing in front of you. You take a step out of the way and she offers a polite nod in return as she brushes past.

She's carrying a different lunchbox this time. It's bigger. Maybe the fresh ones require more attention than bones. It's a stupid thought. But you need something to focus on, something other than the closed off look in her eyes and the slight kink in her lips.

* * *

You're rarely in this neighbourhood unless you're on duty. It's not really your kind of place, and you can't imagine it really suiting any of your fellow officers either. Maybe your mother. Yeah, Elaine Peck would probably love this neighbourhood. The rows of townhouses just scream success and drive. The eclectic variety of European cars parked outside probably add to the image too.

The owner of the steps you're sitting on right now probably didn't notice the same things Elaine Peck would, though. You can think of two things that motivated the purchase of this particular house. The cute fireplace, and the proximity to the morgue.

"Gail?" She doesn't sound all that happy to see you. You vainly hope that it's not because of you, but because she's had a long day and doesn't really want to see anyone. But even you can't fool yourself into believing that one. Her hair is beginning to fall out of the sensible ponytail it's been in all day, and her shirt's ended up slightly untucked at the front. Exhaustion has never looked so sexy. You've seen her like this before, and even on the worst of days she used to manage a smile for you.

No, you can't blame this on fatigue, that apprehension in her voice is definitely because of you. Of course she wouldn't want to see you.

"You don't have a taser on you, do you?" The smile. A whisper of cloudy breath disturbs the cold air, escaping you, even though you weren't aware you'd been keeping it locked away. "Because I'm rather fond of your eyes," You begin to say something, but the words catch in your throat. So you go with your second option.

"I'm sorry about earlier," She looks disappointed, you can't understand why. What else is she expecting? Isn't an apology enough? She can't have been expecting you to grovel, can she? It's not like it was all your fault. Yeah, you should have given her time to explain, you know that - but it's not like your anger was completely unfounded. Maybe you should have bought the flowers you saw on your way over.

"It's fine, you were busy doing your job, I know you didn't realise it was me." She begins to unlock the door, making no sign that she's intending on inviting you in.

"I mean earlier earlier."

"The Penny?"

"Of course The Penny."

"Oh."

"What idiot sits on someone's porch for an hour just to apologise for not moving out the way?" And for snapping at someone, but you don't feel this really needs to be added.

"Probably the kind of idiot that doesn't reply to over a dozen messages."

"I needed time."

"I know," Of course she knows, she always knows. It's just like Oliver. Maybe you're not as good at masking things as you first thought. "It's the only reason I didn't track you down and corner you."

"That sounds sinister."

"I'm sorry too." She take hold of your ice block hands and pulls you in the door after her.

Whilst she busies herself making tea, you sit at the island, not quite sure what comes next. It can't be this easy, surely? Or maybe it is this easy? You wouldn't know, because this is the first time you've been the first to apologise. You normally just run, or after a short stand off they give in. Because until now you've always had the upper hand in relationships - you've made sure of it. You've always been the least invested. Or, at least, you've always managed to make it seem that way. Because then they have far less power. They can't hurt you. Because there's nothing more pathetic than being the one who cares the most. Nothing more dangerous.

"I missed you." You pull at your fingers, distracting yourself from the words with the sharp cracking of your knuckles. You know you need to do this. You spent an hour building yourself up to this whilst you waited for her. But, it feels far too foreign to say these things and look at her. Especially sober. "I know I…I…I should have been…should be more open with you. About me. About how I feel about this. It would probably have meant we could have avoided the whole not talking all week thing."

You close your eyes and try to picture how hurt Holly looked as you threw her words back at her so viciously. Her eyes dulled with a kind of pain that you'd never seen in her before. It's the only thing that keeps you speaking, picturing her like that. Because you need to say this because it's going to help, it's going to make sure her eyes never look like that again. But it's also because those eyes directly contradicted what you'd overheard. Holly did care about you. A lot. So, when you picture them, you know that what you're doing right now isn't pathetic. It isn't dangerous. Because you aren't worrying about who cares the most, because you feel equal. For the first time.

It's still scary as hell though.

"Yes, it might have." She sets a mug of tea down in front of you, and cups her warm hands around your jaw, brushing a thumb against your cheekbones. You've alway felt they were too angular, too sharp. Elaine once said they made you look severe. But Holly strokes them as if they're as delicate as the porcelain your skin shares its colour with. "But everyone knows that a girl who sticks around when you breakdown and cut all your hair off isn't in it just for fun. You had a knee-jerk reaction. I didn't help, and I shouldn't have let Lisa say what she did, but you reacted to something you knew wasn't true." You laugh at her words, but you're so cold it comes out as some weird cross between a sniff and a grunt. "What?" She leans back. She's probably searching for something in your eyes, but they're focussed on the tea, increasingly aware of how vulnerable you've made yourself.

"The one time I'm willing to talk about feelings," You spit the word out as if it offends you. "I'm with someone who doesn't want to." She kisses you softly, her lips a perfect fit to yours. Is it possible for lips to feel empty? You think your lips have felt empty. When she pulls back it feels too soon, although she could have stayed kissing you for eternity and it would still have felt too soon. Oh god. You're such a sap. If anyone ever manages to figure out telepathy you're screwed.

"I didn't say we shouldn't talk." She takes a sip of tea. You miss the warmth of her hands. "I meant that you know I care about you, a lot. You knew it when you overheard me and Lisa. What happened with Lisa was your way out of your tree." She smiles, and you know she's doing the same as you. Recalling that first meeting. "So you took it, even though you knew I really didn't mean it. I think you would have run whether we'd talked or not. And I…I let you because I really wanted you to realise for yourself that you didn't want a way out. Not this time, not with me."

"I don't, Hol. I just freaked out, and I'm not good at…" You struggle to think of how to explain it. You could reel off a long list of all the things you're not good at, all your imperfections. "That."

"It's ok,"

"I wasn't sure." It tumbles out before you have time to catch it. She raises an eyebrow, for some reason you feel compelled to elaborate. You're not sure why. Normally you're quite content with letting people remain confused, or making them figure it out on their own. It's what you do with Oliver. "You think that I would have run even if we had talked about us before, because I must have known how you felt anyway. But I didn't. Until I saw how upset I made you, I wasn't sure. That you were as serious as I was. I like to be sure about things."

"I tell you things." You're thankful for her patient silence. Because this might take a while to get out right. It's hard to explain these things coherently, when you can barely understand them in your own jumbled mind. "I should probably tell you more. Like how great it is that you don't try talking to me in mornings until I've had coffee, and that your hair always smells amazing even when the rest of you smells like morgue." Her eyes laugh. "And that I really like you. I should tell you more stuff. If I told you more, you'd have felt comfortable enough to tell me you were serious without being scared I would run away. And then I would have been sure." She nods. It's not an ok-crazy-person-carry-on-and-I'll-play-along nod. It's an I-get-you-I-really-get-you-and-I-understand nod.

"So, I should tell you more." She doesn't tell you you're repeating yourself, or that you should just get to the point already. She just sits and waits. "But you need to understand, I already tell you the most. I don't really tell anyone else anything. I mean, I let Oliver work things out, and sometimes I'll let him know he's right, or that I'm glad he said something. But I never, ever, initiate it."

She lets you pause again, waiting as you take sips of the tea.

"I…today I…the reason…look, so we had this case. We had this case yesterday and it was awful. It was so awful. And today Oliver tried to check I was alright. And he talked to me about the case, and he tried to reassure me, and I just…I really wanted to speak about it more, you know? But I don't do that with Oliver, I do that with you. But I couldn't do that with you because we weren't talking."

Only now do you realise quite how exhausted you are. Your eyelids feels heavy after a block of sleepless nights. So you sigh. You sigh at it all. You sigh at those stupid gang-bangers and their stupid guns, and you sigh at yourself and how stubborn you were, and you sigh at stupid Quebec and it's stupid language.

"And I just really needed to tell you that she can't speak French, and that I know that. That I cared enough to know that."

"Why do you know that?" She asks the question that Oliver had probably wanted to, but didn't, because that's not how you two work. You give him little clues, and he figures them out. But you don't want Holly to have to figure them out. You want to be able to tell her straight.

"I took her to pick up some stuff before we went to the station, and she brought her French homework. She said it was because she's so bad at it, and she really needs to work hard. Her Mom had just died, but she was still thinking about French homework. Because she was only a kid, and she couldn't really understand the concept of never seeing her Mom again, and she didn't really know that something like that could happen, because she didn't really understand badness."

You missed her hugs. Her ridiculously long arms wrap around you in a way that makes you feel cocooned, like nothing can get to you.

"I needed to tell you how sad I thought that was. I needed you to know that I wasn't cold."

"Gail, it's ok, you can always tell me things. Anything." She speaks into your hair, your face buried into her chest, in barely audible, muffled, whisper. "I've never though you were cold. You're not cold. You care, you care a lot more than most people I know have the capacity to." It's so quiet, that you don't want to say what's coming next. You don't want to break the magic of whatever this is. Your stricken with fear all over again, just like you were when you watched her climb out of her car at the start of the evening. It feels like a lifetime ago, but in reality, you're not even sure an hour has past. What if she thinks it's weird? If it's too much?

Before you can think anymore, you say it. You let the words escape your mouth, the words you'd intended to say when a pathetic 'I'm sorry' slipped out instead.

"I need you. I don't really need people. But I need you."

She squeezes you tighter. You don't know why, or how you know, but she gets it. You don't need to explain it to her, even though you'd be happy to, because she just gets it. Straight away. No questions asked. She knows what you mean.

"I love you too, Gail."


End file.
